Starbuck's War
by DeathscytheVII
Summary: A fan continuation of Bernard Cornwell's Starbuck series, following the adventures of Nate Starbuck.   Part 1: Field of Valor - The North prepares to invade yet again, and it is up to Starbuck and his Legion to face them at a place called Fredericksburg
1. Chapter 1

**Starbuck Chronicles : Field of Valor**

* * *

><p>The air was thick with mist, covering the grass of the Virginian landscape in a sea of morning dew. Although stunning in beauty, the weather offered little comfort to the columns of grey coated infantry as they marched, soaked to the bone. Each soldier trudged on solemnly, their entire world condensed into the space they occupied as they felt the drips of water stab at them from the branches above, soaking through their tattered rags and greatcoats. No one minded of course, as they were numbed to the discomforts of soldiering. Still, one consolation the heavy offered was that if provided them invaluable cover as they began the withdrawal back to Virginia. Although some had believed it a defeat, many a soldier marched with their heads held high, for they had braved the storm of the endless legions the North had to offer, and their efforts were forever immortalized at a place called Antietam.<p>

It was not a defeat, the soldiers thought, not in the true sense of the word, for the Confederates had stayed on the field, quitting it of their own accord when it was apparent the North would not venture another attack, despite the fact that they had outnumbered the Confederates almost four to one. General Robert E Lee had the perfect plan, one with which to smash the North despite their superiority in numbers, but if not for a lost order, they would have succeeded. Now, they were turned back, the great invasion that would end the war was over.

It was not a defeat, yet, for an army used to victory, it may as well have been one. The Army of Northern Virginia had taken a beating, and the only slight consolation they had was at least they inflicted a similar wound onto the Union army, for the Yankees were not too keen to move or chase them with their cavalry. The Army of Northern Virginia would live to fight another day.

It was not the hammer blow that the men had been promised. Nothing decisive had been achieved, and so the killing would go on.

All those thoughts however, were irrelevant to Major Nathaniel Starbuck, as he contemplated the situation with his new amalgamated command. The Legion, and his new command, the 'yellowlegs' were now his, and together they formed barely two hundred men under arms. The Yellowlegs were a special punishment battalion, consisting of crooks, cowards and stragglers. They were the lowest of the low, and the army had looked down on them derisively. Now, they marched proudly, knowing full well that they stood face to face with their brothers in arms during the worst battle of the war thus far. They had seen the carnage, the shells, and bullets tearing men to ribbons, and they stood, fought and prevailed. Now the men wore the name 'yellowlegs' with pride, and the other regiments gave an appreciative nod to Starbuck's men as they passed, talk of what they did at the sunken road spreading throughout the army.

"We should be out of it soon," another officer spoke, prompting Starbuck out of his daydream.  
>Griffin Swynyard, the former drunk and sinner, now newly saved, and newly promoted Brigadier General, offered a salute. "Looks like the Yanks aren't giving chase, we should be back safely in glorious Virginia soon."<p>

"It was a close run thing. They could have ended it." Nate remarked gloomily as he reminded himself of the shrunken roster of the Legion, and the carpet of bodies along the sunken road.

"And yet, they didn't!" Swynyard said cheerfully. "I think, Nate, you overestimate the tenacity of Young Napoleon. He may build a large host, but once he has it, he sits on it. I heard the reports, one look on that field and he retired to his headquarters for the rest of the day."

"Can't say I blame him." Starbuck nodded, his mouth still wrapped in bandages from the wound he took at Antietam. The Yankee army, despite having a full quarter of its troops fresh in reserve, had held back, little Mac still struggling with his inner demons.

"Blame his Intelligence staff. I think we can credit them with our continued existance up to this point. Sadly, it won't last." Swynyard said wispfully.

"Won't sir?" Nate replied.

The old general nodded. "The North is an impatient beast, Starbuck, a beast that by all rights should have rolled over us by now. Their newspapers and voters will demand glory. McClellan may be able to claim this was his Austerlitz, but it won't take long before the truth sets in. Soon, another general will come in, and he'll be impetuous Nate, because old Abe will need a general who is willing to use that behemoth of an army McClellan built up, and when they find out, they'll make fields like this look like a stroll through the garden of Eden."

"We'll be ready sir." Nate said grimly.

"Know you will Nate, know you will."

Swynyard spat a wad of tobacco, deciding to lighten up the mood after that last prophecy.

"How's that face of yours doing Starbuck?"

"It's mending General." Starbuck said awkwardly, the musket ball had clean pierced his cheeks, luckily missing his tongue and skull, but made it mightly uncomfortable to talk.  
>Swynyard nodded. "Good, because god knows I'll need every officer when we get back. I've got some ideas on how to rearrange my brigade."<p>

The General said 'my brigade' with a touch of pride. Only a few months ago, Washington Faulconer, Starbuck's former benefactor, now turned enemy, and father of his best friend, had brought Swynyard in as a favour to his political friends. Swynyard was a notorious drunk, a cruel man who had used his authority and position to serve his own ends, even going as far as ordering Starbuck's company to the forefront in the hopes that it, along with troublesome Nathaniel Starbuck, would be destroyed. And now, since the General's epiphany, he was a changed man, and Starbuck would trust the man with his Legion, and his life. Strange how this war turned out.

"Where to now General?"

Swynyard pointed southwards, past the copse of trees to the Shenandoah Valley. "Old Jack wants us off to Winchester, we'll rest a few days on this side of the Potomac before crossing. Next, we need to replenish our regiments for the next battle. God knows the Yankees can move anytime, but I think Lee's got the measure of young Napoleon. They won't be moving anytime soon."

Nate nodded, although his face burned in pain, he was optimistic, even hopeful at the few weeks rest south of the Potomac. More time to reorganize his new command, as well as train the men for the trials ahead. Who knows what old Jack had in store for them next.

"I'll leave you to your men Nate." Swynyard said cheerfully. "and God be with you."

"You too General." Starbuck saluted.

The old man gave one of his sly grins as he returned the salute. "You know Nate, there's always a place for you at the prayer table. My door is always open."

Nate chuckled. "Not on your damned life."

"From my standpoint, it's not just my life that's damned." The General laughed, wheeling his horse and marching to the commanding major of the 65th Virginia. Their colonel having been shot down during the battle at Antietam.

Nate waved goodbye, just as he spotted Captain Thomas Truslow kick a bunch of stragglers on the side of the road. They were a ragged bunch, belonging to Haxall's Arkansas regiment.

"Get up you lily livered bastards. If I don't see you on the road in the next thirty seconds, I'll save the Yankees the trouble of having to put a bullet into your god damn useless hides." Truslow shouted this in his old sergeants voice, carried back from the time he had fought in the Mexican war and leading up to his recent promotion from Sergeant. The man was a thief, a murderer, a scoundrel and a widower, but Starbuck reckoned he was the best soldier the Legion had to offer, and that was quickly verified as the stragglers picked up their gear and started back on the road.

"God damn useless." Truslow spat in derision as he watched the stragglers limp back into column.

"That was kinder than I expected from you." Nate remarked.

"Weren't my men to begin with Nate, otherwise I'd have done it your way." Truslow gave a dark grin, remembering the one time Nate had ordered a straggler to strip buck naked before kicking him out of the army.

"So I guess it's back to Virginia." Truslow remarked.

Starbuck nodded. "The Yankees gave us a beating, but nothing serious. Lee knows we can't stay in Maryland forever, better to rest up the brigade. Swynyard says he'll reorganize the brigade."

"More work for you Nate, but for now, I say you commandeer one of the horses we took off Maitland. You look like hell." Truslow offered, in a rare show of sympathy for his friend.

Nate shook his head. There was too much on his mind right now, the regiment, the supplies, the next campaign, but he'd be damned before he showed any weakness in front of his men. "You walk, I'll walk."

"Your business Nate." Captain Truslow shrugged, then yelled at his company to march at the double quick. The column gave a furious rebel yell as they cheered their commander on. Knowing they had seen the worst of it, and they had prevailed.

The Army of Northern Virginia, though battered, had survived, and by god, it would fight and win another day.

* * *

><p>Colonel Lyman Thorne almost wept as he surveyed the scene. For miles around, there was nothing but a sea of bodies and wreckage as far as the eye could see. Columns of smoke filled in the air, denoting the various positions where artillery batteries had been destroyed in the previous battle. Union burial parties went to work, loading the dead onto their wagons and preparing mass graves for the fallen. Over twenty thousand men had died on the fields of Antietam and not a single result had been achieved, thanks to the efforts of General McClellan, who had snatched a stalemate from the jaws of victory. By god! He had Lee right where anyone in their right mind could have wanted them. How many commanders were handed the key to victory, the information of their entire opponent's hand and strength before a battle, and somehow found a way to waste it away. It was at a high cost as well, since it cost the lives of one of his best agents to retrieve that information. In the end, it was for naught.<p>

The Colonel rode solemnly across the battlefield, and swore to himself that he would do everything in his god given power to make sure McClellan did not hold command again. At best he was incompetent, but more than ever now, he was convinced the man was a traitor to the republic. Whether he intended to be one or not.

He did well to mask this intent as he waved a greeting at a staff officer coming towards him.

"Major Starbuck," Thorne said gruffly. "I did not expect you to be out here surveying the dead."

Major James Starbuck was a Boston lawyer turned soldier, who had the misfortune to be part of McClellan's intelligence staff. Thorne had once believed the man would do well in the intelligence field, but that fool Pinkerton had gotten to him first, and now whatever potential he might have had was squandered here.

"Looks like we were lucky here, sir."

Thorne scoffed as he observed the scene. "Luck had nothing to do with it, we had Lee in the bag and he got away."

James, utterly convinced that the enemy legions had numbered in the hundreds of thousands, shook his head. "It was by the grace of god we avoided disaster today sir, you've read the reports." He insisted loyally.

"A pox on your reports Major. We outnumbered Lee two to one and we let him slip! By god, what a waste…"

James shifted uneasily in his saddle. A naturally shy man, he was fearful of confrontation yet he could not help but feel as though he needed to defend his commanding general. "General McClellan sees it differently sir, and I can assure you-"

"McClellan's days are numbered." Thorne spouted out. "Mark my words Starbuck. He had the bird in the hand, and he simply let it get away. I know Old Abe won't be too pleased to hear it."

James sighed, the newspapers across the north were already proclaiming this a great victory, surpassing Waterloo and Austerlitz. The rebellion's turning point had come and it was all thanks to Little Mac, how could he not see?

"The President, as far as I know, has already sent McClellan a letter of congratulations, they are celebrating in Washington sir, can you not at least acknowledge that."

"I can accept it major," The Colonel remarked, "If we follow up this victory with action, but where are the troops marching in pursuit of Lee? He should be crossing the Potomac any day now, instead, the Grand Army of the Republic is sitting here twiddling their thumbs."

"The army will move when it's re-equipped and rested sir, we weren't fit to press the fight any longer." James insisted.

"Just like the reb army is moving now?" Thorne grunted, although he agreed in part with the exhaustion of the army, his patience long evaporated. He had tolerated the presence of fools long enough.

"There are extenuating circumstances sir! Besides-"

James paused, just as General McClellan and his staff trotted up beside them.

"A splendid victory! Wouldn't you say Thorne? By god we sent Lee off with a whipping! And with half his numbers!"

"The papers will be talking about it for some time, that you can be sure." Thorne remarked vaguely.

"Indeed, now with our position secure, we can finally start building the army we need to take Richmond, maybe now the White House will finally agree on what we need to finally end this war. There will be changes Thorne, mark my words, there will be changes!" the General exulted happily. Antietam had restored his favor with the administration and in the process, the union was saved. Now, he would have the stature to persuade the president to institute his own allies into the department of war, men who had no problem seeing his vision for an optimal end to the conflict.

"Word has it general," Thorne added in, "That the president is looking towards releasing a proclamation of emancipation in light of this victory." The Emancipation Proclamation, as it was being heralded, was supposed to be Lincoln's response to this victory, forever declaring that the slaves in the rebellious states were forever freed due to the treasons of the secessionists.

McClellan's features darkened as he heard the words. "An accursed doctrine! That has no place in this war. By god man, we are this close to winning it and the gorilla wishes to incite servile insurrection. It will be a disaster man! I signed up to restore the Union, not destroy the south. Which is what we must do if we ever hope to impose such a measure."

"It will give us the moral advantage." Thorne insisted.

"The Union, is our moral advantage. Mark my words Thorne, this is will cripple our efforts, and I would sooner resign than see it passed through."

"Are you saying that you will not follow our President's order?"

McClellan eyed Thorne warily, knowing full well that this man was not among his allies. "I would do whatever the government requires of me colonel, but that does not prevent me from voicing my views. Besides, this is just a rumor, nothing more. My victory here sees that it will be nothing more than just that. A rumor."

"Well now, I'm sure you're satisfied with what you had to see here Thorne? I've got an army to run, and I think our signals are in order." He said it mockingly, knowing full well that the colonel was sent here to spy on him, nothing more.

"I've seen enough General. It's time I head back to Washington." Thorne replied icily.

"I will provide you an escort." McClellan said cheerfully. "Never forget this day Colonel, you were here to witness history."

He'd sooner forget this day ever happened. Thorne thought, then saluted the General and Major Starbuck. He would return to Washignton, he would speak with the President and let him know the truth. The field was full of dead, and there would be many more now thanks to the stunning incompetence of this man, and the worse crime was that he didn't even see it! Thorne was determined, once this illusion of victory had passed, as the Union expected a complete victory, not an incomplete one, new men would take charge, and by god Thorne would be there to support them when that inevitable time came.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: <strong>_Bernard Cornwell's Sharpe series was what got me into fiction in the first place, so i may as well take a stab at writing something in this universe. I don't own Starbuck or any of Bernard Cornwell's characters, just playing in the sandbox ;)_


	2. Chapter 2

"It's a shambles Starbuck, a bloody shambles." Brigadier Swynyard spat as he observed the brigade crossing the pontoon bridge. The army had rested for the day, camping on the Northern side of the Potomac, with cavalry and infantry pickets keeping a wary eye on the Union troops. But the crossing went through smoothly. Columns of grey and butternut uniformed troops slowly treading southwards, their uniforms tattered and shot, and many going barefoot. The lucky ones with shoes were those who had managed to find a Yankee corpse amongst the field of dead they left behind.

What occupied the General's mind however, were the battlefield returns. He had brought nearly a thousand men into battle as part of his brigade. Roughly four hundred remained.

"Four regiments Starbuck! And I'm left with tatters to command. Not an auspicious start to my tenure as a Brigadier." The old soldier shook his head sadly.

"Word has it there's more conscripts waiting for us at Winchester." Nate offered helpfully.

"Ah yes, conscripts!" Swynyard uttered the word as though it would magically solve all the problems in the world. "Regular army, and volunteers are one thing, but conscripts? I don't trust shirkers to fill my ranks." He spat again, solidifying his opinion of them.

"We make due with what we have General. Besides, half my boys are conscripts."

"That's because you have Truslow, and your slave whipping self to thank for." Swynyard grinned, then shook his head again as he observed the remnants of the other regiments walk past him, the men giving the General a small cheer as they passed.

"The 12th and 13th Florida will have to be consolidated. Perhaps even merged in with Haxall's men. That leaves me with three regiments where there were once four. The 13th Florida regiment, the 65th Virginia and your legion."

Nate Starbuck felt a touch of pride as the general spoke those words. Little more than two years ago he was a lost Northerner on the verge of being lynched by an angry mob, and now, he was leading one of the best regiments in the Army of Northern Virginia into battle. Abeit against his own people, but Nate was always a gambler, and he did not complain about the hand that fate dealt him.

"Do you know how Colonel Henry is doing?"

"He's dead. Poor fellow had it in his mind to lead by example, right into a Yankee volley." Swynyard shrugged. Henry was the commander of the 65th Virginia, a devout religious man who had attended the General's regular prayer meetings, yet he also objected to the invasion of the North, saying that by doing so they were throwing away god's favour. He was never close with anyone in the brigade, always preferring to be secluded. Now, he was dead, buried somewhere along the creek of Antietam along with many nameless thousands.

"And who do you think I'll choose as his replacement." Swynyard gave a sly grin as he looked towards Starbuck, whose eyes widened in shock at that statement.

The Brigadier gave a short laugh as he saw Starbuck's reaction. "Not you Nate!" He slapped his thigh in barking laughter. "I promote you to lead my regiment, and you think I'll do it again? Hell that's my job! Besides, I don't want to give you the impression that merit is actually awarded in this army don't I?"

"Old Bird." Swynyard said mockingly, delighted in the surprise on Nate's face. "Pecker is better, and he had the notion that being shot once wasn't enough, so he'd damn well volunteer again."

Nate almost laughed as he heard. Thaddeus Bird was an eccentric, a man who was blunt and honest about the absurdities of the world around him and didn't care what others thought of him. He was a school teacher, and more unlikely, a good soldier.

The General lit a cheroot, giving it a good puff as though he were in contemplation.

"He'll take the 65th Virginia off my hands Nate, With your Legion and Haxall's men. We should have a good light brigade within a few weeks. There's still a few good months of campaigning season, and who knows how long before the Yankees stir themselves up."

Nate Starbuck nodded. "We'll be ready sir."

"Before that however, I am giving you a furlough, god knows you need one."

"Sir?" Major Starbuck asked in puzzlement.

Swynyard gave one of his patented sly grins at that statement, producing a letter from his breast pocket. "I received this letter from our mutual friend. Colonel Patrick Lassan."

Nate smirked as he recalled the name. Patrick Lassan was officially a European observer in this war, conducting affairs on behalf of the French Imperial army. In reality, he was a rogue like any other, even going so far as to ride across the lines with Nathaniel Starbuck to get a piece of the action in the war. Now, he was riding with General Jeb Stuart, and from the description in the newspapers, was riding circles around their Unionist counterparts. But what did he want with him?"

"Lassan is requesting your presence in a raid to the North. Damned fellow got the notion that as a Bostonian you'd blend right in in case their cavalry scouts are challenged."

Nate chuckled at the thought, fooling the yankee army again just as he had done so many months ago down in the Peninsula. The life of the cavalry seemed like a romantic world, compared to the grimy dirt and dying of the infantryman.

"Normally, I'd reject such a request outright, but luckily for you there's business in Richmond that needs to be taken care of. For one thing, you are right about the conscripts. But it's their equipment and supplies I'm more concerned with." Swynyard continued. "At the moment, the Faulconer Brigade's underequipped, and god knows I need all my staff officers here just to keep the thing together. My requests to the war department have produced nothing, and I'm in need of some answers."

Nate felt uneasy at that last statement. Considering what happened to him the last time he was in Richmond.

"You want me to talk to Faulconer?"

"Why not? As the deputy secretary of war, I'm sure he knows what is going on with our supply situation. I know old Jack sent one of his staff there, along with Lee, but I need to know what's slotted for my Brigade. And if possible, to see if they can be persuaded to be more generous with our allotment." The General smiled innocently. "You do seem to have a way with persuading General Faulconer, so I will leave it to you." Everyone in the Legion knew of the night when Nate Starbuck had somehow convinced Washington Faulconer to let him remain in the regiment. Although no one knew the details of why that was the case, Adam Faulconer's subsequent defection answered all questions, and Swynyard didn't doubt that Starbuck knew more than what appeared on the surface.

"And Lassan?"

"Do you little adventure after my request. I have no doubt Jeb Stuart will get the better of the Yankees, so go and enjoy your fun. . But for the moment, pry those men and guns from Faulconer for me."

Swynyard gestured over to K company, which was marching past. "Take Truslow along with you as well. God knows we'll be sitting on our arses the next few weeks and I hear he can be mighty persuasive."

Part of Starbuck wanted to say no, seeing as he was Major and the Legion needed him more than ever in the retraining process. But that promised to be weeks of boring, monotonous routine while the prospect of a ride through Union territory was thrilling in itself. Even more, he was going back to secure equipment and rations for his men. Supplies that would be vital for the coming campaign. The weight of the responsibility of the regiment was overwhelming, and he could not even fathom how men like Old Jack or Robert E Lee could do it for an entire army.

Yet, the offer was there, and for Nate Starbuck, who went southward based on a whim, a little adventure didn't deter him.

"Of course General, you can count on us."

* * *

><p>The dockyards of New York were abuzz with activity this morning. The sprawling city had been the center of activity the last few days as soldiers, politicans and civilians made their way to the city harbours, eager to escape the rebel army. The panic that had flowed in the days before Sharpsburg was infectious, and the governor had temporarily declared martial law to bring the entire area under control. Now, days later, the entire city seemed back to normal, the sprawling and growing metropolis once again churning out guns and cannon for the Union armies, as well as raising and training regiments for the glorious Grand Army of the Potomac. In a way, New York represented the new America, one of Industry, machinery and power. The city alone produced more war materiel than many parts of the South, and it alone provided a great share of the regiments and manpower for the Federal Armies. In time, the republic would be like this, young, bustling, and brimming with power, but first, they had to put down the secessionist traitors who would threaten the very fabric of the republic.<p>

Even as the war went on, the immigrants continued to flow in. With Tammany House taking on the vast majority of the Irish who came, fleeing from the oppressive rule of Queen Victoria's British Empire. They came here seeking opportunity and freedom, and found themselves in a country torn apart. Now, seeking to protect their new home, the Irish volunteered in droves.

Augustine Richard Harper for one, was grateful for the opportunity the new country provided for him and his family. It had only been five years ago when he and his wife, Kate, landed in bustling New York harbour. It was a harrowing journey, having hired a merchantman to carry them both away while avoiding the authorities of her Majesty's navy. The captain was a New England Yank, who loved nothing more than to give the British the slip, and after weeks of hiding and criss-crossing the frothy Atlantic, they had made it.

He had loved his homeland, Ireland with all his heart. Yet in Donegal country he saw no future there for himself or his soon-to-be wife. The English had reduced it to land of misery, where famine and disease scythed down his people. Where British Landlords grew fat off the bread of their subjects while common Irish folk died in the streets, where persecution of the Catholics were rampant and protection from the authorities was half hearted. It broke his heart to leave, as well as his father's, but even he knew it was for the best, giving him one of his most treasured war relics before setting his son off to the new world.

Now, he was a corporal, marching with his fellow countrymen as they fought to preserve their new home. Over a quarter of the city was Irish, and many saw an opportunity in arming and training a host of Irishmen in America, so that after the war, they could band together to fight the real enemy back in Ireland. But that could only happen once this war was won, and won quickly.

They were the Irish brigade, and admiring civilians cheered them on as the columns of pristine, immaculate soldiers in blue and gold marched past them. To many of the Irish, these young men represented the hopes of not just this republic, but perhaps for the homeland as well.

"Daydreaming again Harps?" Sergeant Pat O'Brien, twenty years young and born and raised in the gutters of New York, said cheerfully as the column marched. The men had the easy gait of veterans, having survived the first few brutal engagements of the war. Their unit was sent to New York to raise more recruits, and with the recent action as Antietam, they needed all the men they could get. They were the elite, off to join the rest of the regiment on the fields of Antietam, the fighting 69th.

"Aye," Harper replied wistfully. "Just wondering about the future is all."

"No need to worry, with O'Brien on the North's side. It'll be a done deal. We O'brien's had fought against Nappy, we know a thing or two about soldiering."

"My father fought against Napoleon too." Harper replied nonchalantly. "We know a thing or two." he patted the large bundle of rags he carried with him, along with the newly minted Springfield rifle.

"Ah, but were you there for the Peninsula? Horrible place Harps, worse than the old country. Nothing but miles of mud and ruin, if it weren't for Old Mac, I don't know if I'd be here right now, god bless him."

"I thought the O'Briens could handle it all?" Harper chirped back with a slight smile.

"And never doubt it Harps! But Little Mac had greater things planned for me Harps. For one, I had to drag your miserable ass south with me." Sergeant O'Brien laughed. The two had gotten along easily ever since they had been assigned to travel north to the recruiting stations. With the repulse of McClellan in the Peninsula, the war department had decided that they needed more bodies after all, and so men like Sergeant O'Brien and Corporal Harper were sent north to bring them in, to replenish the depleted Army of the Potomac.

"It's Meagher who will see us through. If I had to choose someone other than Little Mac, it would be Meagher." O'brien said admiringly.

"Amen to that Sarge." Harper replied.

General Thomas Meagher, the famous firebrand patriot of Ireland who had spent the last decade in exile in America, was the leader of the Irish brigade, and a hero to everyone under him. Harper had hoped to one day lead them to a free and united Ireland but even that daydream required them winning the current war first.  
>"Have you heard anything from our boys?" Harper asked.<p>

"No," O'Brien replied almost regretfully. He had been sent northwards just before the Battle at Antietam to recruit more men. Although a part of him was grateful at having missed the biggest bloodbath of the war, another part felt shamed at that thought, for he wanted to do his part as well.

"I talked with some of the wounded that they were bringing up here." Harper said quietly. "They said the burial parties couldn't stomach it, not enough shovels. Men slipping on the field from the blood."

"Aye, sounds like desperate business to me." The Newspapers had been hailing General McClellan for days now, but nothing in the glory hid the fact that the battle was still a charnal house.

"Hard on our Brigade. I hear there's under a thousand left now." Harper reflected on what he read in one of the Irish newspapers, how they were being used as the cannon fodder of nations, always being put into the hardest fights first. If anything though, it was a backhanded compliment to the fighting qualities of his people.

"All the more reason for Meagher to thank us when we arrive Harps! Now let's keep moving, Sharpsburg today, Richmond tomorrow!"

"Whatever you say sarge." Harper chuckled, already shouting at the troops to keep up in the column of march. The union soldiers all cheered as they did the double quick. They were young, idealistic, and had something to prove to their new found home. They would have their chance yet.

* * *

><p>General George B. McClellan was pleased as he read the reports. Lee's army had crossed the Potomac, not a single rebel soldier was now on the North side of the river. By god! He had driven the enemy out! It was a great news, even making him forget the bouts of neuralgia he suffered the previous days, the muscle spasms of his face and shoulder confining him to bed for the past few days, even as his men worked to clear the battlefield.<p>

He had remembered the glorious day, the moment when they found out the rebel army had quit the field. Soldiers cheered and yelled to celebrate their hard earned victory. His critics and enemies were defeated he was sure, for he had saved Maryland and Pennsylvania from invasion, and thus the Union. Lee was gone, and before the month was done, he would resolve that his enemies in the administration, Secretary Stanton would follow. After all, who can deny the victorious general of the greatest victory since Waterloo?

"General Porter." McClellan gestured towards one of his most trusted corps commanders, Fitz-John Porter who had skilfully extricated his men from the disaster at Second Manassas under that blundering fool Pope. "Has your Corps seen the rebels off?"

Porter saluted. "I am happy to report that not a single rebel soldier now defiles the hallowed ground of our United States."

"Excellent." he turned to the rest of his loyal staff. "There will be changes gentlemen! Mark my words this is the turning point of the war. We have Lee right where we want him, and we will finish the job. For now though, I want the men rested up. This army has been cut up a great deal, and I want the best for our men before we proceed."

"Of course sir." General Marcy, McClellan's chief of staff and father-in-law, saluted. "Hurrah for the Union!"

Meanwhile, outside his headquarters on the fields of Antietam, the burial details continued their work. Carcasses of dead horses were piled up and burned, the sweet smell of decaying bloated flesh filling the air along with the rancid ashes. All attempts to bury the men in individual graves were quickly abandoned as their bodies bloated up in the ninety nine degree heat. In some areas, the bodies were so thick that the piles were as tall as a man. While in the hospitals, the grinding sounds of bone sawing amputations and the screams of the wounded filled the air.

To the young men dying and suffering out in the Maryland heat, Young Napoleon was no where to be found.


End file.
